


sick of laying down alone

by notthebigspoon



Series: Brandon and Hobbes [3]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:37:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brandon's life has gotten infinitely better since his divorce. Sure, for two months or so he would only leave the house for games, even going so far as to have his groceries delivered so he didn't have to go out in public. But then Buster had found out about Hobbes and Cain as well. That's a total of three people other than himself that sees Hobbes on a regular basis, a nice reminder that he hasn't completely lost his mind. He's never <i>felt</i> crazy, but then again, crazy people never do. The reassurance is still a nice thing to have.</p><p>Title taken from Fever by Adam Lambert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sick of laying down alone

**Author's Note:**

> The suitcase line is a reference to my favorite Archuleta/Tiemann fic, the infamous twitter fic that if you haven't read, you're sorely missing out on.

Brandon's life has gotten infinitely better since his divorce. Sure, for two months or so he would only leave the house for games, even going so far as to have his groceries delivered so he didn't have to go out in public. But then Buster had found out about Hobbes and Cain as well. That's a total of three people other than himself that sees Hobbes on a regular basis, a nice reminder that he hasn't completely lost his mind. He's never _felt_ crazy, but then again, crazy people never do. The reassurance is still a nice thing to have.

The night game followed by the flight and then the day game make him miserable. He didn't get enough sleep and then he was cranky and snippy with Hobbes because Hobbes, that cat bastard, would get to sleep all day while Brandon got to be miserable in the heat. Hobbes had retorted that Brandon wasn't playing anyways, it didn't matter, but that wasn't the point.

Actually there was no point. There's rarely any logic to their arguments.

Just as Brandon had predicted, he'd been miserable. The game was a disaster and the weather was crappy and by the time they were done, Brandon was feeling sick and in desperate need of a nap. Nothing but a nap. Instead, when they got to the team hotel, he set off in search of a Subway. He came back an hour later with an armful of subs and heads up to his room, ignoring everyone on the team floor in favor of retreating to his room.

He unwraps the subs and lays them out for Hobbes, takes a shower and washes his face as ordered. By the time he curls up into bed, he knows he's running a fever and he's just this side of miserable. He wants to sleep but Hobbes won't get off his case until he drinks at least one bottle of water. He's tempted to refuse just to be stubborn but he has a history of losing to this cat. He pitches the bottle at the trash can, sticks his tongue out at Hobbes and curls up under the blankets. He falls asleep cataloging every single time he's lost an argument with his best friend.

When Brandon wakes up, he doesn't move, just mumbles to Hobbes that he's dying of the plague and that Buster will take good care of him. Hobbes says something about drama queens, nudging Brandon's hip before wandering off again. Brandon can hear rattling and then something that sounds like a crash, then Hobbes talking, but turning over to see what is going on would take energy that he doesn't care to exert.

He drifts in and out for a while before there's a knock on the door and someone saying his name. He mumbles a 'fuck off' that he's sure whoever it is doesn't hear before pulling his blankets over his head. The door opens anyway and a moment later, he feels fingers sifting through his hair. 

“Wow. You look like shit kiddo.” Zito sounds amused. Brandon decides that he hates him very much right now and tells him so. “I'm sure you do. Don't worry, I'm just here until lover boy gets back. Him and Cain went to get you soup and seven up.”

“Not m'lover boy.”

“Hobbes tells me a different story. Told me all about the cuddling in St. Louis.” Zito grins, pulling the desk chair up and sitting next to Brandon. In spite of the amusement at Brandon's expense, he looks a little concerned and reaches out to feel Brandon's forehead. “Wow. You're really burning up kid.”

“M'fine. Just need to sleep. I'll be fine tomorrow.”

“You sure? Maybe we should call somebody.”

“If you call anyone, I will lick something in your suitcase and never tell you what I licked.”

“.... right, okay. No phone calls. Hey, Hobbes, how did you call me anyways?”

“Phone stylus in my teeth. Brandon got me a really big one and I've been practicing-”

Brandon drifts in and out, sleeping a few minutes at a time and catching snippets of Hobbes and Zito's conversation. It seems to go from Brandon's various solutions for Hobbes's lack of opposable thumbs, Amber and philosophy. Every now and then Zito will feel his forehead again, make him drink more water. He feels like a little kid.

When Buster and Cain finally make it, Hobbes pushes and nudges at Brandon until he sits up in the bed. He nudges the pillows out of the way and climbs on, settling behind Brandon and propping him up. Cain just eyes them before shaking his head.

“I have to get me one of those.”

“Take this one.” Brandon mutters, taking the 7up he's handed and taking a drink. “He's a loud mouthed traitor.”

“Is this about him telling us about the cuddling?” Cain asks, winking and nudging Zito. “Because I thought it was sweet.”

Hobbes growls a little, swishing his tail before curling it around Brandon's wrist. When the cat speaks though, he sounds sly. “Shut up, Cain, or I'll tell _Brandon_ about you and Zito doing a lot more than cuddling. Wait, did I just? Oh yes I did. Oops.”

Cain and Zito, unlike Brandon, don't look particularly bothered by their relationship being outed. They just shrug, saying good night and telling Buster to call them if he needs anything before leaving. Buster has been quiet up to this point, unpacking and arranging the supplies he'd brought. He says little, at first.

He makes Brandon take a dose of cough medicine chased by more sprite and a carton of wonton soup. Brandon mostly drinks the broth and eats one of the wontons before shaking his head and pushing the carton into Buster's hands. He feels like he's going to be sick, so he does the manly thing: buries his face in a pillow and whimpers.

Buster sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed and rubbing his back. “Why didn't you tell anybody you weren't feeling good? Probably just made it worse sitting in that heat.”

“That's all I was doing, sitting. Had to be there. Can't just skip out when I feel like it. I want to be here.”

“You could have at least told someone what was going on so you could get plenty of fluids or what the hell ever. Jesus, Brandon, why do you have to be so fucking stubborn?”

Brandon frowns, staring at him. “What's your problem?”

“My problem is my boyfriend's sick and I had to hear it from Zito. Zito told me to go get soup and soda, like I wouldn't have done that for you on my own.” Buster mutters. And... he's pouting. Honest to god pouting. Brandon smiles, resting his cheek back on Hobbes.

“That's all? Hobbes is the one who called Zeets, not me. And I'm sure he would have called you if he'd thought of it.”

“I would have.” Hobbes confirms, batting a paw at Buster. It catches him in the stomach, making him wince. “Um, sorry. Forgot my own strength.”

“S'fine.” Buster wheezes. He climbs onto the bed, thumping Hobbes's stomach in retaliation before stroking Brandon's hair. “You sure we shouldn't call somebody?”

“I have you and I have Hobbes. I'm fine.”

It's true, ridiculously so. He still feels like absolute hell, like he's dying of the plague. But he's curled up in bed with his best friend and his boyfriend. His boyfriend who has accepted all of this so easily and somehow just fits into the picture, a natural extension of the Brandon and Hobbes show, as Zito had dubbed it.

Brandon rolls over and shifts down the bed curling into a ball with his head tucked up on Buster's chest. “I'm glad you're here. We both are.”


End file.
